Kyle strode across the soft grass, his steps quiet but heavy with purpose.
The unconscious saintess hung limply over his shoulder, her divine mana still flickering faintly like a dying ember refusing to be extinguished.
The resting station was just ahead—a shaded area near the training grounds where the Grand Duchess, Bruce, and Melissa had gathered.
As Kyle drew closer, an uneasy feeling coiled in his chest. It wasn't fear—he didn't fear much—but instinct. Something was off.
Still, he didn't slow down.
Bruce was the first to notice him. The young man straightened, eyes widening before he rushed forward with a grin.
"Young Master! You're back."
Melissa stood next, face brightening with relief and something deeper.
"Master Kyle,"
She greeted with a mix of admiration and concern.
The Grand Duchess rose last, her eyes narrowing sharply at the figure draped over Kyle's shoulder.
"What are you carrying?"
She asked, voice cool but curious.
